Ten Years
by Consulting Demon
Summary: Davy Jones waited on that island for her love... and never got it. My version of how he ripped his heart out. It's a tad gorey, read at your own risk. One-shot


Ten Years

"Ten years, I devoted to the duty you charged me. Ten years, I looked after those who died at sea, and finally, when we could be together again, you weren't there. Why weren't you there?" I ask her rather loudly. My tentacles writhe with rage and hurt. My mind drifts back to that fateful day...

The day was hot. The heat was horrible, and the crew had shore-leave. I stood on the beach, the waves slowly lapping at my feet. I took my hat off briefly, just to wipe the sweat away with the back of my hand.

I took the chance and quickly looked up at the sun for the time. It was almost noon. That's okay, I thought. She's a goddess, she must be busy. Surely she'll be here before nightfall. I fell back onto the sand and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

And waited. Each time I looked at the sun, it was getting later and later. And each time I looked at the sun, a terrible thought crossed my mind. What if she's not coming?

I would quickly push the absurd idea out of my head. Bah! Of course she'll come! She loves me! But as the day went on, I found myself realizing that dreadful, absurd thought, was my reality.

Had she forgotten? I asked myself as I rowed back to shore. I tried to stay calm and rationalize the situation. I could hear the raucous cries of the crew back on the Flying Dutchman.

No! There's no way she could have forgotten! She loves me! I'm sure she's very busy, tomorrow I'll probably see her, and she'll tell me how sorry she is she couldn't make it.

But as soon as I got back to the Dutchman, all hell broke loose. I had kept my anger deep within me, trying to avoid the truth.

The fact of the matter was, I wasn't her first. By any means. There was that poor lad she kept prisoner on that island, oh so long ago. And all at once, the thought hit me that maybe she was with another man while I waited for her.

My rage boiled out, and I grabbed the whip from the Bosun and struck anyone who had the bad luck of being close to me. The whip cracked, blood splattering against the deck and walls of the Dutchman.

I dropped the whip suddenly, and calmly walked back to my cabin. My heart beat rapidly, threatening to leap from my chest. I threw myself on my bed.

Oh how I hated Calypso! I loved her, and she stabbed me in the one place I truly gave to her. Her betrayal stung me, I would never trust anyone again! There was no possible way I could feel that for anyone else.

In a moment of insanity, I suddenly found what I was to do.

I grabbed a chest that she herself had given me, the heartless shrew. Without thinking I took a dagger from the table and plunged it into my chest.

The pain was blinding. Ignoring it, I thrust the blade downwards, failing to flinch when bones snapped and sinew broke easily.

The edges of my ribcage stuck out of my chest, giving me more breathing room. I reached in and literally ripped my heart out and threw it into the chest that she herself had given me.

I then fell into a deep slumber.

When I awoke the next morning, the crew complained of "feeling funny." I brushed it off as nothing, and told the navigator to make was for Isla Cruces, an island that was "cursed" because its recent inhabitants had found themselves being killed by the priest that lived there before committing suicide himself.

I found a larger chest and threw the chest with my heart into it, acting as if it was a dead animal, and not my source of life. Atop the chest I set love letters I had written over the past ten years, as well as some dried white roses; her favorite. At least, that's what she had told me.

I didn't care enough to watch my crew make sure they buried the chests properly or deep enough. I didn't care about Calypso. In fact, I hated her. I hated her for leaving me stranded on that beach, and I hated her for making think I loved her. But I hated myself even more, for letting myself get tricked by that harpy.

"It is my nature. Would you love me if I was anything but what I am?" She asks me, expecting my answer. But of course, I already know my answer. I've held it deep within, for centuries.

"I do not love you."

* * *

><p><strong>Gosh. I posted this on DeviantArt in June, when I couldn't log in... and I guess I forgot to post it here. So now I am :)<br>I don't own Davy unfortunately... poohie.  
>And I'm slowly working on A Debt to Pay, but I've hit a small roadbump. I have a little obsession with Dracula from Van Helsing... and I have writer's block, because I stopped in a really bad spot and I don't know where to start. But I will soon :)<br>So please review :)  
>Dracula: Please do as she says...<strong>


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